A Word He'll Never Know
by MirryMir
Summary: Cussing and sexual refrences.
1. Default Chapter

When we think of Pokèmon, we usually think of happy little creatures, with trainers and smiling faces. But in this story, it shows another side of them. It shows them more like the human world. Cold, heartless, some friendly and nice, whores and sluts, drunkards, you name it. This hopefully will make you sad, because I want that kind of mood for this. I hope you enjoy. This story is also about a character I devolved in third grade when I was a huge Pokèmon fan. In this story, it's about the character before he meets my main one. I do not own Pokèmon, but I do own the character design of the creatures in the story. Please also note most of the titles of the chapters are lyrics from Story of the Year.

**Chapter One: My Dying Day**

The night was cold and very quiet, as was a small light unpolished grey cubone. He hardly gasped for air, fearful of his mother remembering his presence. He held the fetal position tightly, squeezing so hard his upper arms began to bruise. Not like he felt how hard her was clutching, for already tons of other bruises and cuts claimed mostly the rest of his body. His empty silver eyes trembled, and his stubby tail didn't dare to twitch.

It seemed like hours, and could have even been hours, before he moved. Well after his mother left, and he felt safe, he crawled out from the closet. Stopping every moment to sniff the polluted apartment air mixed with outside, and to hear the sound of traffic outside. He stood to his tallest, which was only so high. Only a weak two feet or so, and compared to his five foot mother monster, he was even weaker.

Scampering quickly, he raced into the kitchen. Before he made it, he tripped over a chair leg, hit the ground with a thud, and released a painful whimper. Sitting up he looked at his knee. A small sigh escaped his lips as he wiped the blood off with his forearm. He had landed on a nail polish bottle (his mother never was good at putting things away) and it shattered, leaving an awful stain on the floor.

To the boy, the broken bottle didn't register as a problem, then it hit him. That was his mother's favorite color of polish. It was not only a fire red, but it was the one his father had given her before he became a drunk. He whimpered even louder as he realized his mother would surely realize it's gone. He tried to get up, but he heard a click of the door. _Oh god...She's home..._

He panicked and got up to fast to notice his foot was entangled in one of his mother's bras, another item she didn't put away. He went to run, and pulled it under the chair, getting in an even bigger tangle. He thrashed about and tore it loose with a loud rip noise, as his mother opened the door. She'd been laughing before she even touched the door, it must have been a good sex night. But she wasn't laughing anymore. The hall light made this five foot deep crimson monster glow. The pearl white mask gave off a terrifying radiant glow that forced the boy to shield his eyes.

The door was clicked shut and a light flicked on. He slowly unshielded his eyes and saw his mother's ruby eyes glimmer in the shallow light. There was a long akward silence. A sullen but beautiful voice broken the silence,

"....Honey...what happened?"

He went to speak, but his mouth just hung open. Violently abusing his-self in his head, he beat himself till he could find his voice. His voice was raspy and ill sounded.

"I...I was running 'gain mama. I couldn't find the light switch...and I tripped..." He trailed off, but his mom continued.

"Why were you running?"

"...I was scared..."

"Of what, sweetie?"

"....you."

"Me?"

"...I...I didn't want you to remember..That I..Was...well...here."

"Poor baby. Your knee is bleeding. Come here." She laughed coldly but tried to be nice. Yet the boy hesitated. She saw his hesitation, and got impatient. "Come here." Her voice went sharp. When he still didn't move, she went to him instead. Her movement was like a swan, so graceful and fluent. She towered over him, and bent down. She placed a hand lightly on his cheek, and smiled. Then the next thing the boy saw was a flash of red and black, yelped, and fell back. He stared up at his mother, horrfied and shocked. His mother had a frown on, and her hand looking paw had remained where her fur had made contact with his cheek. It was clear, she had slapped him. It wasn't new to him, it was the shock. The Marrowak then began to beat her son.

It was a good 10 minutes before she stopped. When the beating ended, she lit a cigarette, and collapsed on the torn up couch. She studied the blood, nail polish, salt water mix on the floor by her son. Giving no expression, she glanced at her son, where he laid there, bleeding badly, sobbing silently, and trembling like no tomorrow. He sobbed a few words to his mother.

"...It hurts mama..."

"I know Hun. But its life."

His eyes remained on his mother for only so many seconds longer. Then he looked away, secret questions filling his head. Do other kids get beat? Are all mothers sluts and whores? Shouldn't his father care about him and the fact his wife sleeps with other men? These questions gave him thought about his father. He shook his head mentally. It was good his father didn't care. It would only mean more pain for him.

"Get up, you damn kid." His mother broke his thoughts. "You're making more of a mess." She sighed heavily. "Go wash up...I'll buy you dinner."

Surprised at the offer, he darted to his feet and raced for the bathroom. He started the tub and let the water fill the empty container. He heard his mother whisper something as she got up. His tail fluttered from side to side as he thought about food. It had been a good week since he last ate properly. It must have been a real nice night for his mother, and who ever she had sex with must have paid her extra. He never got to go out and eat. His mind wandered, then was harshly brought back when he slid himself into the hot water. His bruises screamed like hell and the cut on his knee burned.

It didn't bother him though. He was going to get to eat. Maybe his mother wasn't all **that** bad....

**End chapter one.**


	2. Shadows of My Life

Again, I do not own Pokèmon, but I do own the character designs.

**Chapter Two: Shadows of My Life**

After the bath, the small boy hurried out. His stubby tail wagged and he waited for his mom. He did his best to clean up the remains of the blood, polish, tears mix, but not much happened. His mother came out seeing him trying to clean up.

"It's okay. No more will come out."

Her purse was slung over her left shoulder, and she grabbed her son's tiny hand in her right. Grasping it firmly, they headed out. The boy was happy to be with his mom, and eager to know where they were going, he bounced about. He clung to his mother's scarlet dress.

"Where we goin' mama?"

"A nice place."

By the way she replied, he decided to keep any more questions to himself as they enter the apartment elevator. They went down ten stories, then out the apartment building, and walked until they came to a place titled Gold's Bar. A Rhyhorn greeted them as they approached. "Well, well, well. Didn't know you had a kid, Della."

Della was the boy's mother's nickname. Her real name was Danielle. She grunted the reply, "Well now you do."

He let the two enter and showed them a place at the counter. An Alakazam was the bartender and looked at Della as she sat down. Using telepathy, he spoke to them out loud. "The usual?"

"Yeah...sure...and a coke for the brat." Della lit a cigarette. The kid held in any emotion from being called a brat. He was bound to be used to it by now. So instead, he looked around the room, simply amazed. Spinarkes and Ariadoses scaled the ceiling, serving creatures as they passed, Gengar and Haunters appeared and vanished after serving customers. There were so many Pokèmon…and there were even humans here.

Della saw the excitement in this kid's face and ruffed the messy fur on his head. She smiled at him, as he grinned a reply. Their drinks arrived soon after, as did their meal.

The night dragged on late, and the boy couldn't have been happier. Nor could his stomach. It was so full, he was afraid it'd burst. His mother looked to him, and dropped quarters into his palm. "Go get a treat for later." The boy's eyes glittered as he ran off. The bartender watched Della, and waited till the boy was gone, before he spoke again. He was washing a cup when he broke Della's inner thoughts.

"The kid's got heavy bruising and nasty cuts. Mind tellin' me why?"

"He fell," Della half lied through her teeth as she pulled another cigarette out. The Alakazam gave her that "I-don't-believe-you-don't-lie-to-a-physic" look. He started drying the glass off with a towel. "You should leave that poor kid alone."

Della glared from under her mask. "He fell."

"Mmmhmm. He fell on your fist, right?"

Della growled.

"Look Della. We all know about your anger problem. Spare the kid."

"I didn't come here for a sermon."

"I know, but just because he looks like-"

At that moment, the boy came running back, and slid behind his mother. The bartender turned away to put the glasses back. "Mama…" he whimpered as a Typhlosion and human emerged from the crowd. "Your brat kicked me and spilled my beer, Della!" The Typhlosion was enraged. "Right Chuck?"

The human snapped out of a daze. "Huh, yeah, sure…whatever…"

"Th-that's not true, Mama! I just asked-"

"I know, hush darling." The boy went silent and the Rhyhorn from the entrance strolled over.

"Chuck…Brad." He nodded to each as he stated names, and then stopped his gaze on Della.

"You go on home…I got a call from-" A table crashed and a fight broke out. The Rhyhorn hesitated, and then looked at Chuck and Brad, warning them off, and then sighed. "Just go home, Della." He knocked Chuck and Brad away for the final time, and then headed to the other fight.

The boy froze. Go home? A call? There was only one person who would call a lady home when she was out. It was time to meet with his father again. This was to be a long night.

**End Chapter Two**


	3. Crumbled Bridge

I do not own Pokèmon but I do own character designs

**Chapter Three: Crumbled Bridge**

The rest of the night was a blur. The boy laid in a heap on the floor, in the middle of his arguing parents. Tears slide down his face, but he made no sound. His head ached, his body felt numb. The rage in his father's voice made his fur stand on its ends, but his mother's voice over powered the father's. The boy wasn't sure why they were arguing, or how he was involved. All he could hear was his own heart throbbing, his wounds aching, and a faint echo of his parents' voices seeped into his ears.

As they continued to scream, the boy attempted to get up, only to be disapproved by a chair leg swung down on his back by his father. It smashed him straight in to the ground. Della screamed even louder at the male, and he returned with even **louder **and heavier words. Seconds went by. Then minutes, then around an hour later, they finally ceased to scream. The father flung out of the apartment room and the mother shoved horrid smelling alcohol down her throat. As she drank, the boy looked up to her, and whimpered sympathetically. She sneered in response. He took the rejection and forced himself up slowly. Nothing was broken, but he had bruising even heavier then normal, and a small concussion. He debated with himself wither to go see his mother, or to run for the only heaven which was the closet.

He made the wrong choice, and moved to his mother.

"Mama?" His voice was a sullen whisper. She took a big swig of her drink, and had her other hand behind the counter. "Mmm?"

"Why does daddy hate you?  
"Because of you."

"....why?"

Della glared coldly, her eyes like fire embers. The boy heard a drawer close, but thought nothing of it, and stared up at his mother passionately. Della laughed, mainly at some secret thought she held in her head, which seemed to be in another world. A much happier world.

The boy waited and waited. Then something odd happened. He saw a flash of silver, and felt something cold yet warm under his left eye. He dabbed at the substance, and glimpsed at his mother. She had a knife in her hand, smudged with blood. He looked at his light ash fur fingers; they were draped in a deep crimson blood blanket.

"You...You...You **bitch**." He gasped.

She was semi shock by her son's language and froze for mere seconds. But she quickly recollected herself, and leapt for her son. The boy yelped and ran off, Della in pursuit.

Things clattered against the floor, blood flew off him and his mother. Chairs were shoved out of place or smashed to firewood. For 13 minutes they played fox and chicken around the apartment. Della finally gave up and slowed to a stop, panting.

"Damn brat." While trying to collect her breath, her hand mindlessly swept the floor, looking for the knife she seemed to have dropped.

But something was wrong. The knife was missing.


	4. Swallow the Knife

Again, I do not own Pokèmon, but I do own character designs.

**Chapter Four: Swallow The Knife**

Della looked around her, searching for the knife.

"Damnit! Where the hell is it!" she growled under her breath. Suddenly, she heard a creaking noise behind her. Spinning around, her face collided with a knife handle. She fell backwards and could feel blood rushing from her neck. Peering through her already clouding eyes, she saw her little boy looming over her; the knife firmly in his grip, her blood oozing off the blade. It took her a moment, but she came to realize he had slit her throat when he knocked her down. A faint smile appeared on her face, terribly confusing the child. The mother's hand slowly reached out and laced around the boy's.

"You're…Just…Like your father..." was all she could squeeze out.

Her grip broke, and her hand and head hit the floor. The smile faded off her grim face and her stomach stopped moving and her eyes floated closed.

"No…" the boy cried. "I…don't want to be like...Dad…NO!" he cried out louder. The knife made a sharp clang noise as it dropped, and he made muffled sob noises as he fell to a sitting position. He reeled his knees tightly against his body and rocked gently. After some time, he stood up and slowly made for the knife.

"Sorry mum..." he whispered as he clutched the knife. He stared at the figure of his mother one more time, and then detached her head from her spine using the knife. He regretfully began to carve the flesh from the helmet. He made himself his own helmet out of his mothers. He can't fit into it, but in time he would.

"Della? Are you there?"

The boy was drenched in his mother's blood and his spine tingled at the voice. He spun around and made a small gasping noise as he realized the figure was the bartender.

"I saw the door op-…" He stopped talking and stared at the boy in the middle of the room.

"It-it's not what it looks like!"

The Alakazam was shocked at the scene and didn't know quite what to say. The boy pleaded innocent.

"Please…Please understand!"

The bartender stepped forward, intending to keep going, but decided against it. "I'm sorry kid; I have to call the cops."

"Please…n-no…" The little child snagged the knife and his helmet. "You can't!" he then fled out the door and down the stairs. The Alakazam was about to stop him, but figured he'd tell the police he found the scene like it was. "Good luck kid…" he mutter to himself as he went to the phone down the hall.


	5. No One Can Fly

Ahh. I do not own Pokèmon but I do own all other characters.

Sorry chapter four and five are so short. I should have combined them. But, I figured its more "dramatic" separated.

**Chapter Five: No One Can Fly With This Broken Wing**

The boy ran and ran and ran. He kept running until he was sure he was beyond city limits. He fled into the forest and didn't stop until the last of the city lights were hidden among the shadows of the monstrous trees. Once the final light vanished, he stumbled upon a stream flowing through. He staggered to it, and dropped his items beside it; collapsed, and proceeded into tears. Through his blurry eyes he looked sinfully at his paws. His bright ash grey paws were now painted in a coat of dark, dried blood. Not any blood, but the blood of his mother. He rolled into the stream and began rubbing at his paws. Harder and harder he kept rubbing until the blood had chipped and washed off. He forced himself out of the water when he was convinced most of the blood had been removed. He gathered his things and pressured himself onward.

A bird plummeted to the ground and screamed angrily as the boy went over to it. The child watched it flail and throw itself around like someone was beating it. Studying the bird, he thought about how easy he had made it for his mom when he never struggled. A cold sensation flowed through his back and the boy gingerly picked the dying bird up. His fist closed, crushing the bird's ribs and snapping its neck at the same time; instant kill. He needed to survive; he wasn't about to let his mother and father win.

He stood up and took a deep breath, clearing his head. He needed shelter, water, a fire spot, and needed to learn how to use a knife properly. The helmet was useless for now, so he left it in the sun to bleach while he went to work on building a shelter, his first kill under the skull. As he worked, he sighed often and thought to himself.

This was his new home now. It was quiet, fresh, and perfect for solitude.

It was better then the city.

That's for sure.


	6. I Stand Alone

Nurrr. Once AGAIN, I do not own Pokèmon but I do own the designs. I'm so boring.

**Chapter Six: I Stand Alone.**

Days went by. Then weeks, and then a month. The nameless boy had become a master with his knife. His body structure was small and thin from lack of proper eating. Cuts and bruises of various sizes would cause temporary scars proved his new life was harder then he thoughts.

The lad's heart had grown cold and dark. His fur too had taken a darker shade. It was no longer a light ash grey; but now a darker and more shadowy, yet not completely black. He had learned the rules of the wild quickly. Only hunt when hungry, don't waste water, and only make a fire when one was needed. Even if this life was hard, he loved every minute of it. No beatings, no loud noises, no bright lights, or people screaming. It was like a dream…But living here was really lonely, and he can't suppress that feeling for very long.

One day, the boy had made a trip to the stream for a drink. His helmet was slung over his shoulder in sling he'd made from Stantler hide and a belt made from the same substance held his knife. Abruptly he heard light laughter of a man. With his ears erect, he eased himself up the stream.

Slowly he peered around a bush to see a man with brown hair that had streaks of natural grey sprouting, small circular glasses, the man had a white trench coat that wasn't buttoned up and under it wore a white work shirt and tan work pants. For some reason, wild animals and Pokèmon were attracted to this strange being. The boy went to move forward but tripped over a root that twisted in the ground. A Growlite heard the snap and jumped around growling. The boy jumped to his feet and brought out his knife in a flash. The red-cream colored flame dog stealth fully pushed forward, his movements carefully planned out in his head.

The man straightened to a full stand as a Butterfree and Beedrill zipped away.

"Interesting…" the man thought out loud. He easily walked to the child with no fears, but the boy leapt back. The guy knelt down and held out his hand.

"Can you speak?"

The cubone hadn't talked in so long, he seemed to forget how. There was a pause.

"Guess not…" The man seemed to sigh. He then examined the small figure. The very first thing his eyes dragged attention to was the scar under his left eye. Then the man's eyes wandered to the knife and helmet.

"May I see your helmet?" The man smiled, but his mouth twitched in slight irritation as the boy didn't respond.

"Please?"

"No." His voice was cold and empty.

"Why?"

"It's not yours. It is mine. And no one can touch it."

"May I just see it?"

"You can see if from there."

"I mean hold it."

"I said no." The boy's muscles relaxed and he stood his full three foot in height. The knife caught a ray from the sun and shone brightly.

"Why aren't you wearing it? From all my studies I've done the mother creates a helmet that fits her child…"

The boy's heart stung, but he made no face. Instead he growled.

"My mother didn't make me one…"

"Oh…Where is she?"

"Dead."

"…Why?"

"…." The boy grew silent. The man waited. They exchanged stares. "I killed her." He whispered.

"Excuse me?"

"I killed the damn bitch!"The man was clearly struck dumb at the statement. Then, like magic, everything fell into place. "She gave you that scar, didn't she."

The boy had no need to reply. The answer was clear. The boy's eyebrows twitched, they couldn't decide wither to be sad or angry. Then the man smiled.

"Common little buddy. Let's go home. He gathered the small figure in his arms and set off. The Growlite had been lost the whole time. He growled then simply followed after them into the dying sun.

Why the boy let himself be taken was unclear.

Maybe it was because he just wanted a home,

Or maybe he just got so lonely, he didn't care what happened.

Well whatever the reason,

The boy was headed to a new home. Somewhere he obviously would be safe, hopefully forever.


End file.
